


Carry On My Wayward (Heart)

by EllenOfOz, MandalaRose



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Danneel and Vicki are on board, F/M, Inspired by Real Events, M/M, No cheating, Our first time writing Cockles, Polyamory, Quarantine, RPF, Socially-Distanced Pining, Vancouver, What do you call "canon-compliant" for real life?, fluff and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25793953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: Jensen and Misha can survive two weeks quarantine across the hall from each other, right?In which Jensen struggles to win a bet, and Misha hasfeelingsabout Jensen's quarantine hair.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins, Jesen Ackles/Danneel Harris (referenced), Misha Collins/Vicki Vantoch (referenced)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 324





	Carry On My Wayward (Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all!
> 
> As some of you know, we usually write Destiel fic, but that GISH Campfire Sing-Along the other day gave us all the Cockles feels! That, combined with all our finale-feels when we learned the boys are quarantining in Vancouver? Well, one thing led to another and we ended up writing both our first ever Cockles fic and our first collab together!
> 
> Thanks a million for beta reading for us, TrenchcoatBaby <3
> 
> We hope you enjoy our little ode to Cockles, to the filming of our long-awaited finale (we'll never be ready!), and most importantly, to Jensen's hair.
> 
> All our love,
> 
> EllenOfOz and MandalaRose

Jensen stops outside the door, letting go of his luggage handle so he can slip his keycard into the lock. He opens the door, but just as he’s shoving his suitcase inside, he hears the click of the door behind him, across the hall.

He freezes as he turns to look— _Misha_.

He’d been right earlier when they’d spoken—turns out their rooms _are_ opposite each other. Misha stands there, a dark fabric mask covering most of his face so that only his blue eyes can be seen, smiling at him. “Hey,” Misha says, his voice a little muffled by the mask.

“Mish,” he breathes, stepping forward before he remembers, and steps back again. Jensen wants nothing more than to gather Misha into a crushing hug, but he holds himself back. They’ve got two weeks of quarantine to get through before they’re allowed near each other again.

He huffs, seeing his frustration mirrored in Misha's whole body—the mask can't hide the tension in his shoulders, the sad kind of look in his eyes. He looks good, better even in the flesh than he had in their video calls. Tan skin, grey in his hair…and they've been standing here staring for longer than they probably should in a hallway. He can’t ever seem to help it, though—the guy just has that effect on him, always has. 

Jensen flinches a little as Misha does step forward, then, towards him. He leans back as Misha raises his hand, looking like he's aiming for Jensen's face, and he says, "Whoa, what're you—?" 

But Misha just swats at his hair, the long fringe he's flicked to one side. 

Misha's eyebrow quirks in the way that he knows drives Jensen a little wild. “The fuck is this?” 

Jensen laughs. “What? You’ve been watching it grow the whole time. You literally saw me on zoom yesterday, man.”

“Yeah, but in person it’s really...something,” Misha says, his eyes locked on Jensen’s. 

His face heats at the scrutiny. “Yours was the same back in what, May? Until you let Maison near it, anyway.”

Misha steps back again, shaking his head. “No way. I did not regress to my nineties self.”

“Shut up.”

Misha looks at him appreciatively again, then says, “You can cut it on day fifteen.”

Jensen hesitates, not sure what he means. "What? Why day fifteen?" 

Misha leans in slightly, speaking so quietly he can barely be heard through his mask. “Because day fourteen, it’s mine.”

Jensen swallows heavily, taking in the predatory look in Misha’s eye. “That so?”

Misha doesn’t even say anything else, just gives him a knowing look. Jensen is sure he’s got a smirk under that mask as he steps back inside his room and closes the door.

Jensen stares at the white door for a few moments, then goes back to shoving his luggage inside his own room. He closes the door and leans back against it. This two weeks of quarantine is gonna be hell.

* * *

Trying to empty his mind of thoughts about the gigantic fucking tease across the hall, Jensen opens his laptop, wondering if his decision to check into the hotel was a good idea or an unbelievably terrible one. Not that he’d had much choice. He’d only actually been at his apartment in Vancouver for a day before it had all gone to hell.

He'd been looking forward to the two weeks here, giving him a chance to unwind, maybe write a song or two, catch up on his Netflix queue. He’d loved being home with Danneel and the kids so much, no doubt, and he already misses them now that he’s here, but for someone who’s used to being away for long sections of the year, being twenty-four seven for several months with three young kids has been exhausting. 

Saying goodbye had been hard, much harder than usual. Not just because he’s been nothing but Dad for the last few months, but because everything has been on hold for so long—the show was supposed to be wrapped and done by now, they were supposed to be jetting off around the world, meeting fans, doing interviews, enjoying the spoils of their hard-won labor. Jared was supposed to be filming for _Walker_ already. 

And now here they all were, back in beautiful Vancouver, to finally shoot the two most important episodes of _Supernatural_. The idea of what the next few weeks would finally bring has been sending shivers down his spine for months now, putting an ache deep in his chest. He’s gonna miss this. This apartment, this show, these people—maybe especially these people.

Ultimately Danneel had told him to enjoy every moment of it, because when would all these people ever collaborate on something like this again? She’s a wise woman, his Dee. Plus she’s sick of him mooning around, missing Misha. 

It had all happened so suddenly back in March, the closing down of production. They’d known for some time now, ever since they’d made that decision to bring the show to an end, that this thing...whatever it was that he and Misha have between them would also change. Jensen hadn’t been ready back then, especially not with all the shit this year, constantly worrying that any one of his loved ones scattered across the country would be safe and well. Sure, they spoke on video chat as often as they could, collaborated to use their reach to help to make other voices heard during the last few months—but Jensen has had the thought often that this is what it will be like after production wraps for the last time. He’s still not ready for it. 

In any case, he’d spent yesterday morning relaxing in his apartment after not having been there for five months. He’d joined a couple different meetings for various things, including the Zoom call for GISH with Misha and Jared and the guys from Kansas—what a trip that had been. He’d facetimed Danneel and the kids around their bedtime to sing them a song. Two days down, so far so good.

Then early this morning, a pipe somewhere behind his dishwasher burst, sending a wave of filthy water flooding across his kitchen floor and into the carpets. He’d cursed his way through working out how to turn the water off, but rather than try to live there while it’s being fixed, he’d arranged with the studio to book him a room at a hotel—the same hotel several of the other cast members from the States are staying in while waiting out their quarantine, including Misha. 

So here he is, quarantined for twelve freaking days in a two-bedroom suite with his freaking boyfriend (or whatever it is they’re calling themselves today) across the hall who he hasn’t seen in person for five months, and he’s frustrated as hell by the whole thing. The longer the months have gone on, the more he’s yearned for Misha’s touch, their rough play and sweet moments. And to be so close, yet so far? 

It’s torture.

Slumping back in the surprisingly comfy couch in his hotel room, he sighs, rubbing at his eyes with one hand. He's gotta take his mind off it, off the fact that they're separated by only a few feet and two walls. 

He dials the one person he can rely on to distract him no matter what, holding the phone up to his ear rather than putting it on speaker. 

“Hey.” Jared finally answers.

“Hey, man,” Jensen replies, some of the tension leaving him at hearing his friend’s familiar voice.

Jensen would never admit it to a soul, but it’s actually a weight off his mind to have his friends back in Vancouver and close, despite their isolation. He’s spent the last couple of months worrying about Jared, Gen and the kids, off road tripping across the country. He’d been appropriately awed by their photos and jealous of their freedom, but the worry had been there. Of course now the focus had shifted to Dee and Gen back at home, and especially JJ and Jared’s boys heading back to school. But that’s a worry for another day.

“You got into the hotel okay? The hell happened, dude? You order in from that taco place again?” Jared laughs. His words are slightly slurred, as though he’s had a few drinks already. 

“Fuck you,” Jensen says with a grin. “It was the freaking dishwasher, flooded my whole kitchen! But yeah, I’m at the hotel now. It ain’t bad.”

He hears a clink of a bottle against a glass. Yep, Jared’s into the good stuff. Jensen gets up to fetch a glass and the whiskey he’d ordered in earlier as Jared asks, “Did you see anyone else there?”

“Nah, but Misha’s right across the hall.” He opens the bottle with a crack, pouring a generous amount into the glass. 

“What’re you doing calling me, then? I’d’ve thought you’d be over there already.” 

“What? Shut up, dude, not for twelve more days, remember?”

“Not that you’re counting or anything,” Jared replies. That asshole is loving this. “Look, I know how much you’ve been missing each other. I’m pretty sure none of y’all have cooties.”

Jensen slumps back into the couch, and takes a mouthful of his drink. As tempting as that idea is, there’s no way he can break the quarantine. They’ve already discussed it several times since they got the call to return to Vancouver, but they’d agreed it was in the best interests of the show and their fans if they followed the rules. Besides, if he somehow had the virus, and Mish got it… Nope, not entertaining that one. “Nah,” he replies, hoping it sounds like he means it. “Look, I called you to distract me from this bullshit, so fire up your computer and let’s watch something.”

Jared doesn’t sound fooled. “Seven days.”

“What?” Jensen asks, distracted from unlocking his own laptop.

“I give you one week before you’re over there with your disgusting tongue down his throat.”

Jensen huffs. “No fucking way.” 

“A hundred bucks says you don’t last a week,” Jared insists.

Jensen sits back. “Dude, it’s been what, five months? Two more weeks is nothing.”

Jared sounds smug, like he’s already won. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

* * *

**Day 5**

Jensen rolls over, wide awake. This bed is nowhere near as comfy as his mattress at his apartment, and it feels uncomfortably empty as well. The last few seasons, Misha had stayed at his place more often than not during the week, rather than drive all the way back home after a long day. He misses the feeling of holding someone in his arms, and while he’s been lucky the last few months to have Dee at home to do just that, up here, he’s craving someone else. 

Fuck this. He picks up his phone, firing off a text. _You awake?_

His phone rings a few seconds later, and he smiles to see Misha’s name on the screen. “Hey,” he says, hushed in the dark room. “Thought you might be sleepin’.”

“Nope, I’m still working out some stuff with Charlie. You should see some of these crazy things people have done for GISH… The ingenuity of some people…” 

Jensen huffs. “Even my shrunken head thing?”

He can clearly hear the grin in Misha’s voice as he replies, “Especially that. The apple head item was inspired, just you wait till I send you some of these.”

He’ll never not be proud of the way Misha has created such a force for good out of his fanbase. The obvious joy with which he attacks everything in life is one of the things Jensen loves most about him. He hopes he never loses that fire, that drive to help other people.

He sighs, rubbing at his face. 

“What’s up?” Misha asks.

“Nothin’,” Jensen replies, eyeing the faint lights from outside shining through the cracks in the window blinds. “Just missin’ you.”

“N’aw, me too. Wish I could big spoon you right now.” Misha sounds kinda distracted. 

Jensen frowns. “You suck at dirty talk, y’know.”

“Really? Should I...slip into something more comfortable?” he says in a lower register, sounding a little too close to Cas for comfort. The timbre sends a shiver up Jensen’s spine. It’s been so long since he’s heard that voice… 

“Stop that,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. The thing is, Misha is actually _really good_ at dirty talk, and if he starts describing what he wants to do to him right now, there’s no way he’s gonna be able to stay in his own room tonight. “You know, Jared bet me I’d be over there in the first week.”

“Did he? I honestly thought you might have cracked already...I know how much you’ve been longing to run your tongue over my—”

“Stop!” Jensen interrupts, trying valiantly to ignore his pajama situation.

Misha laughs, the asshole. “Okay, I’m sorry. I need to get some emails written anyway. Get some sleep. Call me in the morning if you like, I don’t have anything on until later.”

“Okay.” He pauses. “Mish?”

“Yeah?” Misha asks, already typing something on his laptop.

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” Misha says, the softness in his voice making Jensen drop the phone and hang up before he does something stupid.

* * *

**Day 10**

“You’re gonna be on set on the eighteenth, right?” Jensen asks, calling over his shoulder to the laptop on the coffee table. He and Misha had ordered sushi at the same time, and with their devices on their coffee tables, it had almost been like a socially-distanced date.

Misha shrugs one shoulder as he walks across his own hotel room holding his phone. “I dunno, Jen. You know I’m not needed for the rest of this episode.”

“Shut up, you’re gonna be there. I’m gonna need you.”

Misha gives him a fond smile, setting his phone down on the counter so he can pour hot water into his cup. “What for?”

“Support, dumbass. You know what’s about to happen. If I’m not a wreck, it’ll be Jared.”

Misha huffs. “What makes you think I won’t be the wreck?” 

“Oh, I’m countin’ on it,” Jensen says with a grin. 

He’s really not sure if he’s gonna survive until Sunday. He’s going crazy cooped up in this room, ordering in every night and sitting around on his couch. The juice cleanse that he and Jared had decided to do one last time was really getting old as well, hence the cheat-meal of sushi. Plus, there’s only so many times a man can jerk off in the shower thinking about his boyfriend across the hall.

He runs his hand through his hair, stopping suddenly when Misha starts laughing at him. “What?” he asks, grinning despite his confusion. Damn, the guy has an infectious laugh.

“Your hair. I can’t get over it.”

Jensen gives him the flat look he usually reserves for when he’s Dean. “What exactly is your problem with it? Come on, this is the first time I get to grow it in fifteen years and I get crap for it?”

“I’m sorry,” Misha gasps, still laughing. “Of course you look great no matter what’s going on with your hair.”

Jensen pouts a little. “Even now?” He’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt and comfortable cargo pants—about the furthest thing from “great” he currently has with him.

“Especially now,” Misha says, his grin taking on a slightly feral edge that sends a thrill right through Jensen. 

“Mish…” he begins, then gets to his feet. “I’m coming over there.” His overwhelming need to hold this man in his arms carries him all the way to the door of his room. 

“No. Jensen, stay where you are.” Misha’s words stop him before he opens the door.

Misha speaks again, quieter this time. “Come on, Jen, it’s just a few more days…”

Jensen turns, leaning his back against the wall next to the door. “But there’s only a few weeks after that until…” He trails off, and has to walk back into the living area before he can continue, still without looking at the screen. “Feels like time’s a-wasting, y’know?”

Misha is so quiet on the other end of the line that Jensen looks back to him nervously after a few moments. “I know.” Misha takes a breath, about to say more, but lets it out again, looking helplessly into Jensen’s eyes. “I know.”

* * *

**Day 14**

Running a surprisingly nervous hand through his hair, Misha stares down at the clothes tossed haphazardly on his hotel room bed, the sun just beginning its ascent across the Vancouver skyline outside the window beyond. It’s nothing particularly special, just one of his usual graphic-tee-under-a-button-down ensembles, but he still takes a moment to eye the combo critically as he stands there in what have somehow become his trademark orange boxers, wondering if he should ditch the overshirt.

It’s absurd, really. Since when does he worry about his appearance before going to see Jensen, of all people? He’s known the man across the hall for more than a decade and they’ve seen each other in every possible state of dress and undress, at their best and at their absolute worst. Sure, he still puts in a modicum of effort when they’re going out somewhere…or when he knows they’ll be surrounded by people all evening and it’ll drive Jen crazy being able to look but not touch, but that’s different. This is just going across the hall to another hotel room.

Shaking his head at himself, he pulls on the faded blue jeans and tee, leaving the dark blue button-down on the bed. That’s probably a little over-dressed for crashing the hotel room of someone you’ve been in a years-long relationship with. Normally he’d just pull on a pair of ratty sweats before stumbling into Jensen’s room bleary-eyed and with outrageous bedhead.

Today though, feels significant. Maybe it’s just the romantic in him…okay, it’s definitely the romantic in him, but this reunion somehow seems more poignant than the many they’ve shared over the years. It’s not like they’re unused to spending time apart, of course. They’re both very busy people who live thousands of miles apart. When they aren’t working, they rarely see each other, something Misha desperately doesn’t want to think about right now, not when they’re preparing to shoot the final episode of the show that first brought them together and has _kept_ bringing them together for the past eleven years.

Unfortunately, it’s a thought that’s impossible to avoid, given that this has now become their _last_ time coming together to film. Of course, they thought the _last_ time they did this would be the last time, but the pandemic had other plans. Getting a chance to have another last filming reunion feels like both a gift and a curse, especially coming after such a prolonged separation. Being kept apart by their busy lives is one thing. He’d always known that if he needed Jensen, the man would be there just as soon as the next flight allowed, and vice versa. Not being _allowed_ to see one another, however, that’s an entirely different set of circumstances.

He reaches for his cologne on the dresser, the one Jen bought him last year that probably costs three times what he’d be willing to spend himself. Vicki had sent Jensen her own thank you message for that one, saying it was clearly more a gift for her than for him. He grins, thinking about the thank you text _he’d_ gotten from Danneel when his return gift had reached Austin. His smile softens as he thinks about Dee. He’s missed her quite a bit too since their worlds all suddenly contracted back in March.

These past few months have been incredibly difficult, for so many reasons. And for so very many people, they’ve been far more difficult than they have for him, a fact he’s careful not to lose sight of. He hopes that in some small way he’s used what influence and privilege he has to help lift up the voices of others, so that the days, months, and years ahead may be better than the ones left behind. 

And thinking of the days ahead, this quarantine has felt like something of a trial run for the time he knows is about to come, when he and Jensen won’t have filming schedules bringing them together anymore. He’s always known their relationship would change when they were no longer filming _Supernatural,_ and he’s long feared that without the show as a driving force, it would dwindle and wither. In fact, at one point he’d nearly let that fear destroy what they had in an incredibly self-sabotaging effort to protect himself. However, if there is one thing that has been made abundantly clear over the past five months, it’s that no amount of time or distance is going to dull his passion for that green-eyed menace and his boy-band hair.

He supposes it’s time to find out if the reverse is true as well.

Feeling suddenly grateful that Vicki isn’t here to tease him for his nerves (which she would undoubtedly do, mercilessly), he forces himself across the room to the entryway of his hotel suite, determined to knock on Jensen’s door as if this were any other day, any other hotel, any other situation. All of that resolve lasts just long enough for Misha to swing open his hotel room door and take one step into the empty hallway, only to see the door across the hall opening too.

Jensen’s looking down at his hands, tucking his key card into his pocket, which gives Misha just a second to watch him before he’s seen. His dark-washed designer jeans could have been tailored to him (and knowing Jen, they very well may have been), the way they cling to every curve, and his short-sleeved charcoal Henley is just tight enough to show off his biceps, with the bottom of JJ’s tattoo just visible on his left arm. Lips that were covered by a mask that first night they came across one another in this hallway fall into their natural pout, so much softer than he ever lets them be when he knows people are looking.

And then he looks up.

The sun must have finished its rising because surely Misha’s looking into it now. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring and wonders, not for the first time, whether he and Jensen got into the habit of staring at one another like this because of how often it was written into their scripts, or if the writers just took pity on them and started adding stage directions for what was already happening on-screen.

“Hey, Mish.”

He knows the fans (and little old ladies at supermarkets, passers-by on the street, and every subscriber to _Entertainment Weekly_ for the past decade) melt for Jensen’s grin and shiver at his smirk, and while Misha certainly can’t fault him (not even he’s entirely immune to that smirk), those looks don’t have anything on the soft, open smile Jensen gives him now.

It’s the kind of smile that starts on the inside and spreads outward, golden honey poured over warm biscuits, warm and sweet and genuine. It’s not a smile for the fans, not one that’s ever been caught by _Supernatural’s_ cameras. There’s no Dean Winchester in this smile. This smile is one hundred percent Jensen…and that’s why Misha loves it.

“Heading out? Or are you just that eager to see me?” he asks, biting back a smile, knowing full well that Jensen was on his way to surprise him with an early morning visit, just as he’d sought to do.

“Nah,” Jensen shakes his head, warm-honey smile now hidden behind a playful smirk. “Just felt like a walk in the fresh Vancouver air. You?”

“Same,” he answers, deciding two can play at this game.

Jensen chuckles softly.

“Mish?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not wearing shoes.”

That fucker. 

“That’s deliberate. I want to feel the Vancouver soil between my toes. Really connect with the—”

“Would you just shut up and get over here?”

Jensen reaches for him and Misha steps into his arms gladly, accepting the rib-crushing hug and clinging on just as tightly as he buries his face in the crook of his long-time lover’s neck. It’s far more intimate a hug than they would usually share in a space as public as this hallway (which is saying something), but he can’t find it in himself to step back.

They’re still standing there, pressed together as tightly as they can be, as if enough contact might erase the pain of the past five and a half months, when Jensen releases a wet, shuddering breath against his ear. “Fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he murmurs thickly into Jen’s neck, still clutching him tightly, reassuring them both that they’re really here, really together. “So fucking much.”

Finally pulling back, he studies the familiar lines of the face that’s suddenly, after so much time, so close to his and tries to pour everything he’s feeling, everything he’s _been_ feeling, into his expression. Between the two of them though, Jen has always been better at speaking without words and he’s doing so now, verdant eyes broadcasting every longing moment, every missed opportunity for a kiss or a touch, every “I love you” they didn’t get to say in person for the last five months.

“I really hate your hair.”

Jensen belts out a laugh as he shakes his head to dislodge the stray lock of beach-ready dirty blonde hair that’s fallen into his eyes.

“Hey, you’re the one that said not to cut it.”

“I said I hate it. I didn’t say I don’t have a use for it,” Misha points out, crowding Jensen against the still open door off his suite. “I have plans for that hair.”

“Yeah?” Jensen’s smile is small and flirty. “Care to share with the class?”

Shoving the grinning man backwards through the doorway, Misha doesn’t let him get more than a step away before reaching up to sink a hand into those silky strands and, gripping tight, reeling Jen back in and crashing their mouths together.

Fuck, he’s missed this mouth on his. Jensen doesn’t waste any time, taking Misha apart with reckless flicks of his tongue and nipping teeth like it hasn’t been even a day since the last time they did this, let alone months. 

Jensen’s hands roam across his back as Misha brings his other hand up, running both through that gorgeous, stupid hair. That hair that somehow makes this man in front of him softer, warmer, less “Dean Winchester” and more the gentle man that only his friends and family know. He’s both loved and hated watching the Dean facade fade from his friend and lover over these long months. Loved it because he can see the beginnings of Jensen exploring the parts of himself that haven’t been spent the past decade drowned in flannel, preparing to reinvent himself as he moves on from Dean Winchester, as much as that character will always be a part of him. Hated it, because he feared that moving on from _Supernatural_ might eventually mean moving on from him.

He can’t possibly believe that now though, not wrapped in Jensen’s arms, his scent, his touch. This thing between them. It is real, and true, and enduring.

“Sure doesn’t _feel_ like you hate the hair,” Jen pants, backing Misha up against the hotel room door and trailing red-hot kisses down his neck like spreading wildfire.

“Hate might have been too strong a word,” he admits on a gasp.

“You said I look like a Backstreet Boy.” More burning kisses pepper his collarbone.

“Well yeah, but who didn’t love that guy?”

“Nick,” Jensen corrects between kisses. “Nick was the one with the hair.”

“Of course you know that,” Misha teases. “I still can’t believe I thought you were straight when I met you.”

“Like an arrow.”

“You weren’t _that_ convincing.”

“Hey.” Jensen pulls back and shifts his stance into Winchester mode, expression falling into a scowl. “You criticizing my acting? ‘Cause—”

Misha can’t help it. He bursts into laughter. “Sorry sweetheart, but the Dean-voice just doesn’t work with the boy-band hair.”

Jensen tries to hold onto his composure, but can’t quite hide the fond smile pulling at his lips. “Dee said the same thing.”

Misha chuckles, twining his arms around Jen’s neck. “I’m fairly certain it’s impossible to look intimidating when you’re imitating a Tiger Beat poster.”

“Fuck you,” Jensen says easily. “I do not look like some teeny bopper poster.”

“You look like nineteen-ninety-seven Johnathan Taylor Thomas.” 

Jensen opens his mouth but Misha doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Wait, what am I saying? You look like nineteen-ninety-seven _you_. I’ve seen those photos. The cowboy hat was cute.” He grins.

“I was hot then and I’m hot now and you know it,” Jensen argues, spinning Misha around and backing him toward the suite’s sofa. His tongue plunges into Misha’s mouth again, making a compelling argument.

“Mmm… very hot. Like, _Ninety-eight Degrees_ hot.”

Firm hands grip Misha’s hips, pulling them against Jensen’s even as he’s being pressed against the arm of the sofa. 

“Those guys didn’t even have the hair, you know.” The hands slide up under Misha’s shirt, hot lines trailing up his sides, the soft cotton of his tee sliding with them.

“That’s okay. You’ll be saying _Bye, Bye, Bye_ to yours tomorrow.”

“Those guys didn’t have the hair either.” The tee lifts up and over his head, discarded behind the sofa.

“Sorry, I”m kind of a _New Kid on the Block_ when it comes to this sort of stuff.”

Jensen presses their mouths together in response, kissing him like his life depends on it. Like he thought they might never get to do this again. Misha pushes that thought away. There’s no room for it here. Not when he can _feel_ the strength of their feelings for one another in every touch, every kiss.

“I can’t help but feel that we’re really _N’Sync_ though,” he pants instead, as a hand cups his ass, pulling his hips flush against Jensen’s and revealing that they’re both equally excited by current events. “And you know that _I Want It That Way.”_

Rolling his eyes affectionately, Jensen gives him a shove, pushing him backwards over the sofa arm and barely giving him time to scramble fully onto the couch before he’s climbing on top of him, stripping off his Henley as he goes. “Well,” he says between playful kisses, _“As Long As You Love Me.”_

“I do though,” Misha says seriously using both hands to cup his lover’s face where it hovers over his. “I love you so much, sweetheart. I love you more with every passing day, Jen. Even when we’re thousands of miles apart.”

Jensen’s expression softens and Misha sees something of his own worries echoed there. His own need for reassurance that this love between them will last beyond this moment, this city, this show, reflected in those same green eyes he’s spent years of his life getting lost in and will happily sacrifice many more to.. 

It’s almost enough to stop him from saying what he says next. _Almost._

“ _I Swear_.”

The full-bellied laugh he gets in response is well worth it. 

“You’re such an ass.”

“I’m your ass.” 

Jensen flashes him a dazzling smile before it turns distinctly predatory. “Damn straight you are.” 

Sliding a hand around to thread his fingers through those nineties-heartthrob locks, Misha grips tightly, dragging Jensen’s lips back down to his. 

Even as his mouth descends upon Misha’s again, Jensen’s hands descend to the button on his jeans and there’s no more talking after that, not until they’re both lying in bed some indeterminate amount of time later, sweaty and sated, with Misha’s fingers trailing idly through those sun-kissed strands.

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I think I like this hair.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please come squee at us in a comment about how much Jensen's hair broke you as well <3
> 
> We just wanted to add that we completely invented Jensen's plumbing issues, and it hasn't been confirmed that Misha is even _in_ Vancouvuer yet (but we assume so). We hope you like our headcanons anyway! 
> 
> Come find us on twitter, [MandalaRose](https://twitter.com/MandalaRose2) and [EllenofOz](https://twitter.com/ellen_of_oz).


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